Pasqueflowers, April 22, 2018

The great Minnesota melt of 2018 has finally arrived. On Earth Day, the second day of temperatures in the high fifties that are rapidly making the piles of snow seem like a winter dream, we head out to look for the earliest bloomers. We’ve already seen skunk cabbage several weeks ago down by Minnehaha Creek while the snow still buried the ground.  Now on a steep gravelly hillside near Cannon Falls we find the first pasque flowers as well—many furry buds about to open and a scattering of pale purples flowers already blooming.  In the next few days, more pasque flowers will open, and in a week or two kittentails and pussytoes and prairie smoke (whose leaves are already greening) will begin to flower as well, but the pasque flowers are the ones that make us shout with delight.

Once we see pasque flowers, we can usually be sure that snow trilliums will be blooming, too, on a different hillside, a steeply wooded one near Hastings. Could we really be lucky enough to see both pasque flowers and snow trilliums in a single outing?  At Hastings the hillside is still frozen in places, but almost all of the snow cover has melted. Hepatica leaves are greening in the brown leaf cover of last year’s oak leaves, and in a corner of a cliff we find the tiniest snow trilliums I’ve ever seen, their leaves still upright enclosing a minuscule white bud not much bigger than a grain of rice.  These flowers, too, will open quickly now that spring is here, and hepatica will blossom blue and purple, while Dutchman’s breeches hangs its laundry out to dry.

Snow trilliums and pasque flowers in a single sunny afternoon—our long-awaited spring is finally here.  And our hearts are glad.

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

Still stalled

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo


It’s been several weeks since we found emerging skunk cabbage down along the Minnehaha falls trail on May 25. Since then, we’ve had snow, warming, more snow, cold, and a brief moment when the weather actually felt like spring. After a day of warmth that melted much (but not all) of the snow cover, we had planned an outing to our favorite snow trillium and pasque flower sites on Saturday. Then Thursday’s news promised us that “a big, ugly, and unpredictable storm is about to hammer much of Minnesota” with snow, rain, and ice.

But surely the skunk cabbage, already up and melting the snow around it, would be further along that when we’d seen them a few weeks ago. Surely a few more brave early bloomers would be joining them. Eager for some wildflower searching, on Thursday before the storm we headed back to Minnehaha Falls boardwalk.

The skunk cabbages hadn’t retreated into the ground, but neither were they much bigger than before, and a few looked decidedly frost-nipped. Other spring flowers must have still been wisely waiting underground, because we saw not so much as a marsh marigold leaf.

Many years ago my junior high home economics teacher, upon hearing me mutter darkly as I struggled with a pink polished cotton box-pleated skirt that was way beyond my sewing abilities, remarked in her soft southern voice, “Remember, class, the good book says that patience is a virtue.” Fifty plus years later, it’s a virtue that still eludes me, especially when I’m hungry for the first native flowers of spring.

We assured ourselves that there were definitely more skunk cabbage emerging than we’d seen last time. We reminded ourselves that every year we go looking earlier than common sense would suggest. We congratulated ourselves that at least this year we didn’t drive four hours north to be surprised by persistent winter but did so close to home.


Isn’t it about time, Spring? We’re really, really ready to welcome you.


March 26, 2018

Skunk Cabbage, March, 2018

We had bundled up for the March for Our Lives in Saint Paul and marched along with an estimated ten thousand other folks, mainly young people, to the capitol building to demand action to end gun violence.   After the rally, still warmly dressed, we decided to run down to Hastings and see if the snow trilliums were venturing out of the ground. Never mind that the wind as we had crossed the bridge over the Mississippi was bitingly cold. Never mind that snow buried much of the still-frozen ground. We were hungry for the first wild flowers of the season. And so we went searching for a sign that spring had begun.

The north facing, forested slope where in previous years we’ve found snow trilliums, one of the first spring ephemerals, was still ankle deep in crunchy snow. All we found in a few bare spots around the trunks of trees were last year’s hepatica leaves lingering, waiting for this year’s blooms before putting out new leaves. Of snow trilliums, which can bloom even in the snow, not a glimpse. Under that snow they waited for warming.

But snow trilliums, we’ve learned in our wildflower searching, might not be the first Minnesota native wildflowers of spring. Skunk cabbage, it turns out, is in even more of a hurry. The plant makes its own internal heat with starch from its roots. Its maroon-colored spathe (a modified leaf) is shaped like a bird’s large, sharp beak, and the flowers, which have no real petals, open inside the protection of that spathe. Skunk cabbage, along with other woodland wildflowers, grows in the marshy ground along Minnehaha Creek, so on Sunday we head for the boardwalk beside the swiftly running water. Snow has melted from stretches of ground beside the boardwalk, and here we spot our first skunk cabbage breaking through the dark earth. And then another, and another, and another. One flower even grows in the center of a melted circle of snow, proof of what we’ve read about skunk cabbage’s internal heat melting the snow cover so the plant can emerge.

Never mind that the spring equinox has come and gone and snow is predicted for tomorrow. Never mind that we haven’t yet seen a robin returning. Here, alongside Minnehaha creek, skunk cabbage is a sure sign that spring has arrived and the season of searching for Minnesota’s native wildflowers has officially begun.


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